I look into my glass, and viewing wasting skin, and say, "Would God it came to pass my heart had shrunk as thin !"

For then, I, undistrest,
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity.

But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.